


Glass is Sharp For a Reason

by cilceon



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, shes okay isnt she??, wanderer gets hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon
Summary: She remembered hearing a clicking sound and then… Deacon yelling something. Her name, maybe? Her name, not Wanderer? She had to have heard wrong. Why would he say that while they were working a job? Hell, he hardly said it anyways. And why was she on the ground? They needed to go tell PAM that the D.I.A. cache was secured. There wasn’t time to be laying down in a suspiciously warm puddle.A puddle? Why was she in a puddle?
Relationships: Deacon & Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Glass is Sharp For a Reason

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ Hi there! theres a better version thats much longer [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463801/chapters/72373647) that you should read instead!! This version is only up for archival reasons xx

PLEASE READ NOTES ABOVE

She remembered hearing a clicking sound and then… Deacon yelling something. Her name, maybe? _Her_ name, not Wanderer? She had to have heard wrong. Why would he say that while they were working a job? Hell, he hardly said it anyways. And why was she on the ground? They needed to go tell PAM that the D.I.A. cache was secured. There wasn’t time to be laying down in a suspiciously warm puddle.

A puddle? Why was she in a puddle?

“Charlotte? Charlie can you hear me?” If she didn’t know better, Wanderer would say he sounded on the verge of being frantic. “Charlie?”

Her name. He _was_ saying her name. Why did he look so scared? She tried to open her mouth to respond but his moment stopped her. Deacon had a hand on either shoulder now. His head wasn’t moving but she could feel his eyes darting from each part of her behind his glasses.

“Hey, hey it's okay. It's alright don't you say anything.” Her arm. He was definitely looking at her arm now.

Wanderer tried to prop herself up from where he had her leaning against an old counter, but Deacon wouldn’t let her. One hand was at the base of her neck now the other was grabbing a stimpack.

She looked at it warily and tried to move away. “I know you hate using these Wands, but you need this right now. You gotta stop moving. _Please_ stop moving.” There was a softness in his voice she hadn’t heard before. It made her heart hurt.

Wanderer moved her head to look at the arm he was so fascinated with, his hand cuffed the side of her face tenderly, keeping her gaze on her partner. “Hey, come on, look at me not your arm.”

She shuttered in a breath as the needle went into her skin. “S’it… is it that bad?” She croaked, “My limbs s’all attached?” From what she could discern from the split second of a scowl on the man’s face, the wound wasn’t closing.

“Sorry boss, looks like you're just ahead in the torso now.” There was no smile on his face as he spoke.

Wanderer could feel the medicine trying to kicking in. Her mind clearing for a moment before returning to fuzz, “Deacon, what happened?”

“You tripped a wire.” He looked away. ‘There was a trap I didn't see.”

“Are you okay?” The words were sluggish coming out of her, blood loss fogging her thoughts too much to hid her concern for him.

“Am I okay? Shit Wanderer. You almost got your arm blown off and you're asking me if I'm okay?” His thumb stoked her cheek lightly as he spoke, so gingerly she might have well been made of her mother’s fine china.

“My arm got blown off?” Deacon still wouldn't let her look down, his hand placed on her jaw not moving.

“I said almost. You're gonna be fine once we get you back to Carrington or Ticon… Ticon’s closer…” He trailed off looking over the rest of her body. Deacon was quiet, which was never a good sign.

The only thing she could think of was to try and lighten the mood, the way he would if their rolls were switched. “Are my toes still there? I told Cogsworth he could paint ‘em and I cant let my boy down.”

“There’s a piece of glass in your leg.” He was deadpan, an even worse sign.

She let out a whine, “Ugh...like _glass_ glass?” Wanderer tried to sit up more to be able to see but he continued to stop her. “Where’d s’it even come from?” With a thunk she let her head hit the counter behind her, closing her eyes.

“Display case.” He moved from her, taking her warmth with him. Wanderer kept her eyes shut as she listened to him rummage around on of their bags. “Hey, hey lets keep those peepers open boss.” Deacon snapped lightly with his fingers in quick succession.

She cracked her eyes open and glared at him in the dimming light of the room, the sun was setting. “Don’ snap at me, Dee.” In his distraction she glanced down at her lap. The glass wasn’t in her leg per say but she could make out the glint of the shard protruding from her inter thigh. She groaned again, more out of annoyance than pain. “That betta not be goin’ trough my tendon.”

Deacon’s had was back to her face, brushing loose strands of her hair from her eyes and behind her ear. “Okay, I’m gonna walk you through whats about to happen.” He was being so gentle with her, Wanderer didn’t understand. Surly she wasn’t hurt that badly. “I’m going to pull that out of you, you’re going to most likely swear…” He trailed off, picking his words. “We’re going to shimmy your jeans down a little bit, then clean out your boo boo, then see if I need to stitch it u-”

“Nuh-uh.” She attempted to sit up in protest but Deacon set his hand on her shoulder, preventing her from moving with ease. It was starting to piss her off. “It’s not that bad, we’re not putting stitches anywhere near me.” She shook her head vigorously, making her nauseous. Or maybe it was the though of thread getting laced into her skin...

“Wanderer. If you need them, you’re getting them.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before moving his hand to it to the inside of her thigh, nuddging her leg out to the side slowly. The glass resting in the curve of his thumb and pointer finger. “It wont be that bad.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, “Easy for ya t’say. If I said that to ya if we were in a really high building ‘n I dragged ya ‘cross a cutty bridge sayin’ ‘oh it wont be that bad’.” She wiggled her head from side to the side, eyes still closed, “What if I jus’ went ahead ‘n went ‘cross it, then ya’d follow behind me all sorts of stressed out, huh? Not that bad pff.”

The sound of the glass being pinging of the wood floor followed by her belt being undone ended her rambling, she kept her eyes closed.

If she wasn’t loopy with the dud stimpack failing to fix her low blood to body ratio, Wanderer would feel bashful right now. With a groan, she lifted her backside slightly to help her friend remover the clothing.

“I would act like a huge baby boss,” She felt Deacons hands move around the wound, inspecting the damage. Wanderer focused on the contrast of the roughness of the pads of his fingers against the softness of her inner thigh and not the stinging of the gash in her. “Honest. I would throw a tantrum and everything. You’d be forced to carry me kicking and screaming. Every super mutant in the ‘wealth would come running.” Deacon made a small tisking sound before continuing, “You can keep your eyes closed but you need to keep talking. Okay, Wands?”

“Mmhm.” Her voice was getting quiet, tired- but she didn’t want to disappoint him. “S’my turn to be the one with the show tunes.” There was a _tick tick clack_ of something light, plastic maybe, being set on the floor but she couldn’t quite make out what it was. “Dunno what ta talk ‘bout though, you’re the one with the words.”

“Ah, I know, you can tell me all about the battle of Carthage or something riveting like that.” His hands had left her body and returned to the bag besides them. Wanderer hadn’t realized how cold the room had become, it must be because the sun was setting. “Got any juicy gossip about Garvey? Oh hey, did you know you have a freckle on your thigh? Oh! Recount to me the plot of your favorite B movie.” Deacon rested his palm on her knee, brushing over it with his thumb. He wasn’t going to tell her if she was getting stitches, was he?

She sighed more dramatically than intended, “I ‘morized some sonnets for a class I was in durin’ high shool…” His hand left her again, it was getting annoying. “Think I remember some of ‘em.”

“I’m more of a limerick kind of man, but I’ll take what I can get.” Warmth came back to her thigh, followed by an unwelcomed pricking. She tried to move away, but Deacon held her in place. “It’ll be over soon, lets hear that poem, yeah?”

Tears were pricking at the corner of Wanderer’s eyes. She made not move to wipe them away, balling her hands into fists instead. She didn’t have the energy to put strength into the action, “Um yeah… Ah… When to the sessions of sweet silent… thought,” The pricks were continuous now, methodical in moment. Relentless. “I… um I summon up remembrance of things past, n’ I sigh the lack of many thing I uh sought-” She sucked in a breath sharply, feeling the thread be pulled taught.

Deacon continued the next line in her pause, “And with old woes new wail my dear times’ waste.” His voice was gentle, encouraging, but edged with concentration.

She nodded in a jerk of a motion, head heavy and eyes squeezed shut as tight as could be mustered. “Then can I drown ‘n eye, unused t’flow, for precious friends hid in death’s… um dateless night ‘nd weep afresh love’s long-since canceled woe, ‘n moan the expense of many a vanished sight.” A shaky break, tears catching in her throat, she continued. “Then can I grieve at grievance foregone… ah heavily from woe to woe tell o’er, the sad account of… of a fore-bemoaned moan, which I new pay as if not paid before… But if the while I think on thee, dear frien- ah ow!” The thread was pulled tight once more, her hands were shaking. Nails desperately wanting to be strong enough to dig into her palms. “All losses are restored ‘n… and…” God, she couldn’t remember the last part.

“Sorrows end.” There was a _snip_ of the string being cut, “Just like the stitches. Ya’ did great, Charlie.” Deacon left her once more in favor of the bag, voice muffling as he turned from her.

“I don’t _feel_ good.” Wanderer opened her eyes slowly to see what was keeping him from her for so long. Deacon was still turned from her but she could see he was wiping his hands with a rag, the moonlight streaming through the grimy windows made them looked dark- shiny. “Why ya’ hands shinny?”

He answered automatically, “It’s your blood honey.” His back straightened, a ripple of tension going through his shoulders. Did she do something wrong? Deacon held the rag in one hand, the other reaching to the side to grab something she couldn’t make out then going to his face. _Oh._ He had taken his glasses off.

He turned back to her now, rag in hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and decent, what would the neighbors say?” Deacon’s voice was light with the joke, but the tension was still in his body. Wanderer doubted that, regardless of her current mental state, anyone else would've noticed. What did she do to upset him? He put an arm under hers and the other in the crook of her knees, moving her from the blood underneath her body. He leaned her against the wall and began dabbing away the blood.

“Dee… did I do somethin’ wrong?” A twitch in his jaw was the only response, she knew how uncomfortable it made him that she was starting to read him so well. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Her voice was getting drowsier, but now there was sadness weaved into it. She felt like a child apologizing for spilling juice.

“You did eat the rest of the BlamCo yesterday, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully recover.” He sighed dramatically and set the back of his hand against his forehead, leaving a streak of red on his skin. Deacon moved to pull her jeans back up, Wanderer didn’t want to lift herself to help. “Come on, let’s get that tooshie up.”

“I don’t wanna.” Her voice was getting quieter. “I’m tired.” A voice in her head was begging her to keep her eyes open. Wanderer didn’t want to listen to it.

In response, he lifted her lower half to clothe her. “I’m going to check on your shoulder, okay?”

“M’kay.” She felt the fabric of her flannel move over to the side, the cold of the room raising goosebumps on her skin. “… cold.”

“Yeah, it’s getting nippy…” He went quiet, examining her shoulder for longer than she though was right. “Wanderer.”

“Hm?” Her eyes stayed closed, Deacon’s hand went to her face, cuffing the side of her jaw. Thumb moving back and forth across her cheek. The touch wasn’t warm like it was earlier.

“I asked if it hurts?” The gentleness was back in his voice. The moment of his hand matching his tone.

“...dunno…” Wanderer focused on the feeling of his touch. She wanted him to stop talking, she wanted to go to sleep.

“You don’t know?” He repeated her answer more clearly then kept talking, she wanted to pay attention, really, she did. But Wanderer was so tired, it wouldn’t be that bad if she just took a nap for a few minutes… Deacon would wake her up.


End file.
